sold before the war at 9 cents a pound. The hospitals that use carbolic
now have to be as economical and sparing as old Josh Lee.
“Old Josh Lee was a miser, and he breakfasted every morning on oatmeal.
To save fuel, he cooked his week’s supply of oatmeal on Sundays. This
supply, by the time Saturday came round, was pretty stiff and tough and
hard to down.
“One Saturday morning old Josh found his oatmeal particularly
unappetizing. It had a crust on it like iron. He took a mouthful of
the cold, stiff mixture—then he half rose, thinking he’d have to cook
himself some eggs.
“But he hated to give in. He hated to waste that oatmeal. So he took
out the whisky-bottle, poured a generous glass, and setting it before
his plate, he said:
“‘Now, Josh, if you eat that oatmeal you’ll get this whisky; and if you
don’t, you won’t.’
“The oatmeal was hard to consume, but Josh, with his eye on the whisky,
managed it. Then, when the last spoonful was gone, he grinned broadly,
poured the whisky back into the bottle again, and said:
“‘Josh, my son, I fooled you that time, you old idiot!’”
BY JOVE, QUITE RIPPING
Everybody who has been in Epsom has seen the big gates on which are
perched two stone dogs. An American officer saw them recently for the
first time.
He approached a native with a joke on his lips, expecting to see it
fall flat, as he had been taught would be the case. “When do they feed
these dogs?” he asked.
“When they bark,” said the Epsomite, and now this particular American
is more of an admirer of Englishmen than ever.
FROM SANTA CLAUS IN WASHINGTON
At one stage of the war Uncle Sam’s steamers crossing the Atlantic had
enormous stars and stripes painted on both sides of their hulls, bow
and stern, and between these flags the space was occupied by the ship’s
name. At night brilliant lights illuminated the whole gaudy color
scheme. A steamer so decorated was signaled by a British cruiser, “What
ship is that?” The reply came: “United States mail steamer So-and-So.”
Said the cruiser: “Thanks. Thought you were a Christmas tree out of
season.”—London _Opinion_.
THIS BEATS ALL
A young French officer, speaking of bravery on the field of battle,
tells this story on himself: “I was in front of my section at night,
when suddenly, about ten feet away, I saw a line of enemy riflemen.
I told my men to lie down. Then I looked closely, and very clearly
made out moving helmets. With my men behind me we all suddenly arose
and charged. I went ahead and, revolver in hand, I threw myself
forward, shouting in German with all my strength: ‘Surrender! You are
prisoners!’ only to find that we had charged several rows of beet
stalks with their heads nodding in the wind.”
PAT WAS STRINGING HIM
“Well, Pat, my good man, what did you do?” inquired a patronizing
stranger of the Irishman back in London on leave, with his arm in a
sling.
The stranger’s air annoyed Pat, who blandly said:
“Faith, an’ I walked up to one of them an’ cut off his feet.”
“Cut off his feet! Why not his head?”
“Sure, an’ that was already cut off.”
ANOTHER HUN ATROCITY
An officer recently on leave brought home and gave to a lady a bottle
of eau de cologne found in a German colonel’s dugout.
She was at a dinner party shortly afterwards, exhibited it, and she and
other ladies dabbed their faces with the perfume.
The room became very warm, and soon they were horrified by the
appearance of black stains on their features.
The stuff was a hair dye, which only developed its color when heated.
The worst of it was the stains did not disappear for some days.
KNEW HIM WELL
First Tommy—“Here’s a nice letter for a fellow to receive! The
scoundrel who wrote it calls me a blithering idiot.”
Second Tommy—“What’s his name?”
First Tommy—“That’s just what I’d like to find out; but there’s no
signature.”
Second Tommy—“Don’t you recognize the writing? It must be somebody who
knows you.”
ENOUGH TO MAKE A KING LAUGH
A gallant British officer, granted leave, went to London to get
married, and upon his arrival was very much astonished to receive
a summons from the King to an “audience” at five o’clock in the
afternoon. He was married at four o’clock, and so, after the ceremony,
he drove to Buckingham Palace, and said to his bride: “Now, if you will
wait in the carriage I won’t be more than half an hour. These audiences
are always very perfunctory and brief.”
When he was received by the King he found, however, that he was quite
alone, was received most informally, and that His Majesty was very keen
to know of the officer’s exploits and movements at the front. Then,
before the officer was aware how time had flown, His Majesty said: “We
have dinner in half an hour and of course you will stay. The ladies
will want to hear your story.”
The officer had not the courage to tell the King that his bride of an
hour had already been waiting in the carriage for three hours, and so,
finding no chance to send word out to her, he remained for dinner. The
dinner was very leisurely served, there was much talk about the front,
and it was after ten o’clock when the party broke up. The officer was
on edge to leave, when the King said: “You will be shown to your room,
and tomorrow morning I shall have something to give you.”
The officer thanked him, and, as he was going to his room, he called
one of the equerries of the household to him and confided to him his
dilemma. Within five minutes there was a knock at the officer’s door,
and when he opened it the King stood there fairly convulsed with
laughter. “My dear chap,” said the King, “why didn’t you tell me? Of
course it was hard on you and your lady, but really this is the best
joke I’ve heard for a long time.”
The bride was found, brought in, and under the King’s and Queen’s
graciousness any feelings toward her new husband and his hosts which
she may have had in her carriage wait of six hours melted away; and the
happy bridal couple spent their marriage night at Buckingham Palace.
TOO SLEEPY TO BE SCARED
All Paris is laughing over the sangfroid of a young married midinette
on the occasion of an air raid on Paris.
The heroine resides on the top story of a large apartment house, and
when the warning was given was sound asleep.
The concierge, finding that she did not descend to the underground
shelter, raced upstairs and banged at the door.
After repeated hammerings he woke the lady up, and called to her to
immediately descend to the basement as a raid was on and she was in
great danger on the top floor.
The reply he got was:
“Go away and let me sleep. My husband is in the trenches. Do you
think he gets into a dugout every time a shell falls? Why should I,
therefore, be frightened of an air raid?”
SHE UNDERSTOOD WOMEN
He wanted to buy a Christmas present for his girl back home, so that
she could show it to all the other girls, and destroy their peace of
mind because it had come from France. He knew just what he wanted, too,
but every time he thought of going into the shop and trying to ask in
French for the thing he wanted he got red behind the ears. He had gone
over the top in the past, unafraid, but he couldn’t do this.
At last, when his leave was up, he went into the canteen and asked the
Y. M. C. A. woman there to make the purchase for him. He gave her the
address and hoped it wouldn’t be too much trouble to send the package.
“Of course it wouldn’t,” said the Y. M. C. A. woman, who buys dozens of
such gifts each week. “I’ll enjoy it. I’ll see that the package goes
all right, and, if you like, I’ll write her a little note, too, telling
her how well you’re looking.”
“That will be nice,” said the private. He counted out the money, a
generous amount. Still he lingered, and it was evident that he had
something else on his mind.
“Anything else I can do for you?” asked the woman.
“It’s like this,” began the private, hesitatingly. He stopped,
swallowed, and started all over again. “Please be careful what you say
in that note, won’t you, ma’am? You see—my girl—she’s funny about some
things—she might think—well, you know how women are!” finished the
private wisely.
“I’ll tell you what,” said the American woman. “I’ll tell her I enjoyed
meeting you because I have a son in the army myself. Will that do?”
“That will be fine,” said the private heartily. “I wouldn’t have
mentioned it, only you know how women are.” He smiled at her
understandingly, saluted, turned and went out.
WELL, THAT WAS HIS COMPANY
First Officer—“What was the joke about Lieutenant Footle?”
Second Officer—“Why, the Major’s wife said she’d be glad of his company
at her house on Wednesday, and the silly ass took all his men along.”
SPOIL OF WAR
The proudest Yankee in the whole advancing army that entered Saint
Mihiel was the driver of a motor truck who, when he came within five
miles of the town, discovered a little girl, four years old, with a
doll in her arms, sitting by the road, crying. The American immediately
stopped the truck, gathered the little one in with her doll, put her
on the seat of honor at his left, and thus drove into the town, to the
joy of the Yankee soldiers when they discovered her. No one has claimed
the little one and she is still the mascot of the company, as happy as
a lark and, of course, literally spoiled to death by the worshiping
soldiers, who give her so many sweets that the poor little one is sick
about once a week. Then the boys take her to the base hospital and,
after a day, she is back again as well as ever.
CHEERFUL NEWS FROM ‘OVER THERE’
It’s a shame to do it, but public safety impels us to expose the
sergeant who is palming off his Mexican border service ribbon as
an American croix de guerre, thereby raising his own holdings of
“amourique Amerique” stock in the eyes of petite Madélon.
Even so, sleeping on the rocks has its advantages, for in the rosy days
of the future when friend wife turns the lock on our late nocturnal
home-coming, we can curl up on the front porch with sleepful abandon.
And when we are in the parlor with our best girl telling her of the
great rôle we played in the world-safe-for-democracy drama, we’ll not
mind it a bit if the passing guard orders, “Camouflage those lights!”
So many Yanks are over here now that there is scarcely room to house
them, thereby creating the necessity of extending the eastern frontier
of this domain of Foch, Pershing, et al.
To our exchange desk has recently come a copy of the _Kriegszeitung_,
the official organ of the Seventh German Army. The most we can say for
the sheet is that it is Boche and bosh.
What gets us guessing is how this daylight-saving plan works out in the
land of Eskimos, but we suppose all they have to do is to get up six
months earlier each morning.
Elsie Janis danced so gracefully that, after she had alighted from a
perfectly stunning flip-flop, a doughboy in the third row was heard
to remark: “Just like a wheelbarrow I saw in the air after a high
explosive hit near it.”
Our staff correspondent who made the trip to Paris is recovering from a
rather severe headache.
Cursed be the mule whose braying is like unto the whistling of a
shell.—_The Ohio Rainbow Reveille_, Official Organ, 166th Infantry,
Somewhere in France.
HE KNEW WHAT TO USE
A sergeant standing at a window in the barracks saw a private pass in
full-dress uniform, with a bucket in his hand in the act of fetching
water from the pump.
Sergeant—“Where are you going?”
Private—“To fetch some water, sir.”
Sergeant—“Not in those trousers, surely?”
Private—“No, sir; in the bucket.”
THEY CAN’T WORK THIS ANY MORE
A manufacturer in Switzerland who had been in the habit of purchasing
many of his supplies in Germany before the war recently met a German
commercial traveler with whom he had been accustomed to trade. The man
smilingly offered his wares, but he was met with a peremptory refusal.
“Is it because I am a German that you refuse to give me an order?”
“Certainly,” said the Swiss.
“Have you had reason to complain of the way I have executed your orders
in the past? You have not, have you? Very well, then, if you are
friendly to France that is no reason why you should go against your own
interests. You know very well that the goods you get of me will cost
you at least twice as much if you buy them of French makers.”
“I know that, but I will make a sacrifice.”
The Boche traveler was not discouraged. “You are making a mistake,” he
remarked. “If you do business with us I will give you what no one in
France can give you.”
“Very likely.”
“You have no doubt relatives who are French soldiers.”
“Certainly.”
“Listen to me,” said the Boche, interrupting him. “There is, perhaps,
one who has the misfortune to be a prisoner in our country. Give me
your usual order, tell me the name of the prisoner, one, no more, and
I swear to you that I will secure his release as permanently disabled.”
The salesman was asked to repeat his offer. He did so, and the merchant
said: “Very well; I will try you to see whether you keep your word.”
“Try me and see,” answered the German.
The manufacturer gave the order so ardently desired, and furnished the
traveler with the name and address of one of his nephews who was a
prisoner in Prussia. A week later the nephew arrived in Switzerland,
with a number of prisoners who were totally disabled, astounded at his
liberty, because he was perfectly well!—_Ladies’ Home Journal._
IMPORTANT INFORMATION WANTED
Officer—“Now, Private Jenkins, I am going to give you a very
responsible job. Under our advanced trench is a large mine. I want
you to stay there, and when the mine goes up I want you to blow this
whistle. Now, do you clearly understand?”
Private Jenkins—“Well, there’s one thing I’m not certain of, sir. When
do I blow the whistle—going up or coming down?”
THAT WAS THE HYMN NUMBER
A soldier got mixed recently. He tells about it in a letter home: “They
put me in barracks; they took away my clothes and put me in khaki;
they took away my name and made me ‘No. 575;’ they took me to church,
where I’d never been before, and they made me listen to a sermon for
forty minutes. Then the parson said: ‘No. 575, art thou weary, art thou
languid?’ and I got seven days in the guardhouse because I answered
that I certainly was.”
TEMPORARY
Miranda’s dropt her fancy-work and sailed across the Straits
As a temporary “lady of the lamp;”
And Jane’s abandoned portraiture to wash the cups and plates
Of the Tommies in a temporary camp;
And Ethel—nervy Ethel!—is a motor-driving Waac,
And fairly saved her special Brigadier
The day that Fritz got busy and our line came surging back
In a temporary movement to the rear.
A temporary Major they’ve contrived to make of Bob
(He was always pretty hefty at his drill),
While the rank of air-mechanic—and he hustles at his job—
Is the temporary perquisite of Bill;
Old Joseph drives a tractor most surprising true and straight
(He’s sixty, but a temporary sport),
While Augustus sails the ocean as a temporary mate
When he isn’t in a temporary port.
There’s a temporary shortage of the things we eat and wear,
And the temporary pleadings of the Tank,
Plus the temporary taxes that we’re called upon to bear,
Lead to temporary trouble at the bank;
The only things that haven’t changed since Wilhelm butted in
To show how Armageddon should be run
Are the views of Thomas Atkins as to who is going to win,
And his personal opinion of the Hun.
—_Punch._
BOOZE FIGHTERS
An inquisitive old lady asked a royal defense corps veteran what the
letters “R. D. C.” meant.
“Reformed Drunkards’ Corps, ma’am,” he replied solemnly.
“Dear me,” she murmured, “what miracles those recruiting sergeants do
perform!”
VERY PROPER ANSWER
A retired army officer tells of an army examiner who had before him
a very dull candidate. The man proving, apparently, unable to make
response to the most simple questions, the examiner finally grew
impatient and, quite sarcastically, put this question:
“Let it be supposed that you are a captain in command of infantry. In
your rear is an impassable abyss. On both sides of you there rise
perpendicular rocks of tremendous height. In front of you lies the
enemy, outnumbering you ten to one. What, sir, in such an emergency,
would you do?”
“I think, sir,” said the aspirant for military distinction, “I would
resign.”
WHAT DISCOURAGED HIM
A sergeant was trying to drill a lot of raw recruits, and after working
hard for three hours he thought they seemed to be getting into some
sort of shape, so decided to test them.
“Right turn!” he cried. Then, before they had ceased to move, came
another order, “Left turn!”
One hoodlum left the ranks and started off toward the barracks-room.
“Here, you!” yelled the angry sergeant. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve had enough,” replied the recruit in a disgusted tone. “You don’t
know your own mind for two minutes runnin’!”
GOING SOMEWHERE
A colored soldier on the fighting front got a two days’ leave shortly
after the signing of the armistice, and immediately prepared to make
a date in the French capital. When leaving the front, however, he
got held up by a French sentry, who was unable to understand Sam’s
explanations. Sam accordingly talked louder and louder, shaking his
fist at the Frenchman, who threatened to shoot if Sam proceeded.
Finally Sam said: “Looka here, boss, I got a mother in heaven, a father
in the other place, and a sweetheart in Paris, and I’m agoin’ to see
one of ’em tonight.”
OUTRANKED IN THE KITCHEN
The son of the well-to-do family had recently joined up as a private,
and was spending his Christmas leave at home.
Returning from a walk, his mother espied a figure in the kitchen with
the housemaid.
“Clarence,” she called to her son, “Mary’s got someone in the kitchen.
She knows perfectly well that I don’t allow followers. I wish you’d go
and tell the man to leave the house at once.”
Clarence duly departed to the kitchen, but returned in about half a
minute.
“Sorry, mother, but I can’t turn him out.”
“Can’t turn him out? Why on earth not?”
“He’s my sergeant!”
SURPRISE FOR THE GERMANS
It was during the nerve racking period of waiting for the signal to
attack that a seasoned old sergeant noticed a young soldier fresh from
home visibly affected by the nearness of the coming fight. His face was
pale, his teeth chattered, and his knees tried to touch each other. It
was sheer nervousness, but the sergeant thought it was sheer funk.
“Tompkins,” he said, “is it trembling you are for your skin?”
“No, no, sergeant,” said he, making a brave attempt to still his limbs.
“I’m trembling for the Germans—they don’t know I’m here.”
NO LEAD PIPE CINCH
“Conscription has, maybe, saved the country,” growled the soldier, “but
what I object to is the company it drives a man into. I’m a plumber by
trade, an honest workman, yet I’m compelled to suffer the society of
such professionals as a lawyer, a minister, and an auctioneer.”
“Not a bad selection, Jock,” remarked his friend.
“O, maybe no in a way; but when the minister and the lawyer start an
argument on Egyptian law in the middle o’ the nicht across half a dozen
beds, wi’ the blessed auctioneer as umpire, what chance has even a
plumber of stopping the gas leak?”
SERVED HIM RIGHT!
A professor at Princeton who has taken much interest in the woman
suffrage movement was persuaded to carry a banner in a wartime parade
held in Washington.
His wife observed him marching with a dejected air and carrying his
banner so that it hung limply on its standard, and later she reproved
him for not making a better appearance.
“Why didn’t you march like somebody, and let the people see your
banner?” she asked.
“Dearie,” sighed the professor, “did you see what was on that banner?
It read, ‘Any man can vote. Why can’t I?’”
QUITE A CONTRAST
It’s all a matter of comparison, according to H. T. Webster, the
cartoonist, who told the following as proof at a race meeting of the
Salmagundi Club:
“Shrapnel shrieked all about. Bombs dropped from the sky, and every so
often a big German shell burst overhead. Suddenly one Yank burst into a
fit of laughter.
“‘S’matter, Buddy?’ his mate asks, fearing that he had suddenly gone
insane.
“‘I was thinkin’, Bill,’ replied the other between chuckles, ‘of the
runt that held me up one night in Memphis with a 22-caliber revolver.’”
AND HOLDING IT YET
Gen. Von Spew sat in his room and studied the map. Then he rang the
bell at his elbow. In came Dunderkopf, his aide-de-camp.
“Dunderkopf, glance over this map. Do you see this hill?”
“I do, Excellency.”
“That hill must be captured. Attend to the matter and let me know when
it is done.”
Twenty minutes passed and there was a knock at the door. Dunderkopf
strode in, clicked his heels together and saluted.
“I have the honor to announce, Excellency, that the hill has been
captured.”
“Already captured! Fine, my son, fine! Who occupies it?”
“The Americans, Excellency.”
FOOLING THE COOTIES
I wrote to my brother in France, who had been in action, asking if
he had acquired “cooties.” His reply came back, “Yes, indeed, I had
cooties. One is not a regular soldier until he does have them, but I
got rid of mine in this fashion: I sprinkled my clothes all over with
salt, then laid them down on a river bank. The cooties became very
thirsty and got off the clothes to get a drink, then I pulled them away
quickly. Nine-tenths of the cooties died from mortification and the
other tenth from lonesomeness.”
THIS IS A MAN
Edith Wharton, at her flat in Paris, told a war story.
“The American wounded were being brought in from the Marne
battlefield,” she said, “and a fussy American woman in a khaki uniform
and Sam Browne belt bent over a stretcher and said:
“‘Is this case an officer or only a man?’
“The brawny corporal who stood beside the stretcher gave a grim laugh
and said:
“‘Well, lady, he ain’t no officer, but he’s been hit twice in the
innards, both legs is busted, he’s got bullets in both arms and we
dropped him three times without his lettin’ out a squawk, so I guess we
can call him a man.’”
WANTED SOMETHING STATIONARY
On an American transport two days out from New York:
First Sambo, who is really enjoying the sea, to his dark companion, who
has gone below: “Nigger! Come on up! We’re passing a ship!”
Voice from below: “I don’t want to see no ship. You jes’ call me when
we’re passing a tree!”
YET THEY FOUGHT NOBLY
Two negroes were discussing the possibilities of being drafted.
“’Tain’t gwine do ’em any good to pick on me,” said Sam. “Ah certainly
ain’t gwine do any fightin’. Ah ain’t lost nothin’ oveh in France. Ah
ain’t got any quarrel with a-n-ybody, and dey kain’t make me fight.”
The other pondered over this statement for a moment. “Yo right,” he
said at length; “Uncle Sam kain’t make you fight. But he can take you
where de fightin’ is, and after that you kin use you’ own judgment.”
PHYSICAL IMPOSSIBILITY
During the fighting on the Aisne front one American company pushed out
far ahead and lost touch with the neighboring companies on either side.
Their zeal in chasing the Germans was leading them into danger of being
enfiladed by machine gun fire from the flanks. A major stormed up to
the captain.
“Why the hell don’t you hold your men back?” he yelled.
“How the hell can I told ’em back when the whole German army can’t?”
THE QUICKER THE SOONER
“Goodness!” gasped the sergeant of the guard, sticking his head out of
the window, “what is the man playing at?”
Private Murphy, who was on sentry go, was running as hard as he could
from end to end of his beat.
“Hi, Mike!” yelled the noncom, “what’s the trouble?”
“Sure, an’ there’s no trouble at all, at all,” replied Murphy, panting
as he paused in his scurry.
“Then what are you running for?”
“Well, ain’t I on duty here for two hours? I’m only trying to get me
two hours done quick!”
TRANSPORTS OF JOY
“Were you happy when you started for France?”
“Happy? We were in transports.”
WHERE HE IS EXPERT
“So you’ve joined the Army, Mose?”
“Yes, sah.”
“What branch of the service are you in?”
“Well, sah. Ah’s in de infantry, but when we get t’ France Ah’se done
asked de captain to put me on dat night-raid wo’k. Gittin’ into de
odder fellow’s backyard durin’ de night hours is a job dat ah considers
mahs’l particularly experienced at.”
NO MULES IN THE AIR
American Soldier: “So you are in the aviation corps. I thought you
enlisted in the cavalry?”
Gentleman of Color: “Ah dun change.”
American Soldier: “What was the reason?”
Gentleman of Color: “Wal, suh, for one thing, an aeroplane, after it
throws yo’ out, very seldom walks over an’ bites yo’.”
DEAR LITTLE BOY